In a world of perpetual ice and snow, a wanderer's tale is told.
From beneath the frozen boughs of a dead tree, a pair of eyes gazed out into the white wilderness beyond.
The blizzard had covered everything in a fresh carpet of snow, gleaming in the cold light of the morning sun. It's cold, crisp brilliance reflected across the ice lake beyond, leaving red and gold spirals across the clear blue of the frozen water. Beyond the lake, the white peaks of the snow-covered mountains soared above the motionless white landscape, the tops like spearpoints against the white of the cloudy sky.
Only the eyes provided any colour in this blank, desolate place. Like two golden beacons they glowed with light and warmth as the figure beneath the tree tossed it's head and strode off across the ground, its feet marring the pristine snow.
It had been a long time since the golden-eyed figure had been seen in these parts. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.